The Girl is Mine
by One Raindrop Raises the Sea
Summary: AU Victorian Era. No magic. Hermione Granger had her life planned out perfectly until a certain blonde noble came along. Hiatus!
1. Love Like You'll Always Be Hurt

_London, England _

_Autumn of 1872 _

"Hermione, I think I'm in love."

"I…" Behind the counter, the woman's eyes were widened and her mouth agape. "I'm flattered. Truly, I am. You are a lovely person, and I have the utmost respect for your feelings towards me. Be it as it may, I am soon to be a married woman; it would be uncouth for me to be involved with my future husband's sister."

"You think yourself humorous, don't you?" asked the redhead, her brow risen.

"Quite, but enough about me; tell me of this man who has stolen your heart."

"Tall. He's taller than George, shorter than Ron. Gorgeous chestnut locks! He wears it messy, but in a respectable manner. And his eyes! Hermione, his eyes are so green! Like the Elysian Fields."

"Might I know the name of this Adonis?"

"No. It's a secret!" She giggled into her gloved hand. "If I dare speak his name the spell will break and my beautiful prince might turn into an arrogant, pragmatic frog like the rest of them." She joked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ginevra Weasley's weakness was handsome upper-class men; she liked the ideas of star-crossed lovers, opposites attract, love conquers all, and other ridiculously romanticized nonsense. As past has proven in the young Weasley's life, an upper class man would never marry the daughter of a poor tailor; they also fancied the idea of forbidden lovers, but they knew their place in society unlike the redheaded girl

If one thing could be said about Hermione Granger, however, it would be that she knows her position in the world. She worked every day in a worn-out bookshop nestled between a butcher shop and a mortuary that she would never own. (So what is the point of yearning to do so?) She refrained from embarrassing young gentlemen who misquote literature or incorrectly use a phrase. (Well, "refrained" is debatable). She was to be married to a man of similar status and outlook as herself; a man who will have to struggle to get by just as his father had to and his father's father. Hermione liked Ronald Weasley for that very reason. He wasn't a man of great looks, but a man of great character.

Hermione Granger was content with life.

"Since you didn't give me an adequate name for me to call him, he shall therefore be Prince Charming Number Seven." Said Hermione, smirking.

"What a cruel woman you are!" Despite her words, Ginny had an amused smile plastered on her face. "Besides," she continued, "This one is different. You'll see."

"'You'll see' what?" A voice asked. A slightly round boy came from the backrooms of the bookshop. Neville Longbottom has worked in the bookshop for a couple years longer than Hermione; yet, he serves as an assistant to the young woman as, to use a quote from the owner, Jonathan Lynch, he is "as useful as a fish in the gull's mouth." But, the clumsy boy tries his best which is commendable to Hermione.

"Neville Frank Longbottom! What type of man pries his way into ladies' private conversations? You should be ashamed of yourself." Ginny said while shaking her head and tsk-ing.

The poor boy turned red and muttered something before returning to his sanctuary in the backrooms away from the frightening woman. Before accomplishing this, however, he ran into a couple of bookshelves which caused several of the books to be knocked down. Hermione gave her friend a half-hearted scowl – used really to cover up her own amusement—before bending over to pick up the mess.

"Honestly, I've known that boy since I was ten years old yet he still doesn't understand my humor." Ginny frowned.

"I don't blame him." Hermione said while putting Emerson next to Thoreau but far away from Whitman. "I've known you since I was six and I still can't comprehend half the things that come out of your mouth."

Hermione continued to stack the fallen books back to their respectable shelves, barely listening to the ramblings of her friend. He mind began to wander about the books she held in her hands. The smooth leather calmed her very soul; just holding the spine made her finger's tingle with exhilaration. While most say one shouldn't judge a book by its cover, Hermione Granger thinks all should. The craftsmanship of a book adds to the experience of reading the story; if one just had a few dainty slips of paper in their hands they wouldn't receive the ecstasy caused by the cold leather pressed to their skin.

The sound of the bell announcing a customer disrupted her from her trance. Without even turning she said, "Feel free to look around. I'll be happy to help if you need any assistance."

"Yes, I'm looking for my fiancé. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Equally beautiful and intelligent." A familiar voice said.

Hermione spun around with a wide grin, "Either that's a compliment to my appearance and mind or a grave insult."

"I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out." He said with a similar look on his face. He hunch over to be at eye level with Hermione. Ronald Weasley was a very tall man. By the age of fourteen he out grew his entire family and like all the members of his house, he had red hair and a freckled pale complexion. Hermione noticed his hands resting on the counter; they were working man's hand. Calloused at the tips of his fingers from sewing for long hours and holes from the needles. Hermione loved his hands.

"I missed you." He said in a whisper.

They had last seen each other three hours ago. In fact, every few hours he sneaks out of his father's shop to see her, sometimes carrying homemade jewelry or little trinkets such as handkerchiefs or coin purses. This time he brought her red poppies from his mother's garden.

"Oh, they're beautiful!" Hermione said as she quickly put them in a vase. "Thank you!"

He blushed, "It's nothing. I have to speak with you—"He stopped to glance at his sister before adding, "—privately."

"Why bother? It's not like I won't be told afterward." Said Ginny, but with persist glaring from her elder brother she left mumbling and huffing.

Once he made sure she was out of sight he said, "I know I haven't given you everything I should, being your future husband and all. It's been a month in our engagement and I still haven't given you a ring." He looked down at her bare hand, his expression filled with guilt.

"Ronald," she sighed, "I told you not to worry about it. Even if it was a year into our marriage I wouldn't care if I had a ring or not. I just want to be with you."

Suddenly a grin appeared on his face as he said, "You won't have to wait a year; I have a surprise for you tomorrow."

Obviously feigning surprise, she said, "I wonder what that could be?"

"You'll have to wait and see, my dear!" He said in all seriousness. Hermione looked at him blankly as he ran out of the shop after giving her a kiss goodbye. She wondered how anyone could be that incredibly stupid. After all, it's only human nature to pick up pitch changes in voices and recognize them as genuine or sardonic.

At that thought, she went back to work until the evening. The day resulted to be above average for the standards of the shop with minimal accidents by Neville and only one person mistaking the shop for the mortuary next door.

She allowed Neville to leave early as she closed up the shop. It was a fairly easy task and she wanted to get home early to soak in a warm bath while catching up on her reading; doing this did not involve stay at the shop for an extra hour to clean up the man's accidents.

After sweeping up the floors for the night she did a short scan of the inventory. She made it to the Religion section before the bell rang. Autonomously and monotonously she said, while keeping her eyes on the books before her, "Sorry we're closed. Please come back tomorrow." Roman, Roman, Roman, Harper's Illustrated, Harper's Illustrated, Wycliffe… no bell? He hadn't left yet. She repeated herself, this time with more authority, "Sorry we're closed. Please come back tomorrow." Five more Wycliffes and a King James.

She turned around, "Excuse me!—"

She closed her mouth and blinked. For once in her life, Hermione Granger was speechless.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: First chapter out of a planned eighteen. Although comments (or lack of) won't keep me from continuing this story, I would like to know what you think. I know some of the characters, particularly Ginny and Ron, are a bit out of character, but I struggled in the adjustment of their personalities to the time period. I would also like to point out that being born in the 90's makes it very difficult to mimic the elegant style of the 1800's, but I'll give it a fair shot. Some food for thought if you're reviewing: Was reading this boring? I'm a bit self-conscious of these things. Well, bonjour and hopefully I'll have the next chapter up within the week.<p>

Oh, and please notify me of any stupid mistakes! Thanks!


	2. Love Cannot Drive Out Hate

**WARNING**: At this point the rating has changed to Teen. (I doubt this affects anyone, however.)

**Also, a word to the wise**: This chapter is not all that it seems.

* * *

><p><em>She turned around, "Excuse me!—"<em>

_She closed her mouth and blinked. For once in her life, Hermione Granger was speechless._

Before her stood a young man with hair so blonde it appeared white even under the faint glow of the lantern above. His porcelain skin was flawless against shockingly silver eyes which rested below a noble brow. Thin, pointed features graced his face: an obvious sign of aristocracy and wealth. From what could be seen, he sported elegant clothes; a black overcoat obscured the view of the majority of his outfit, but a white silken necktie peeked its way through the folds of the black fabric.

The man's appearance was impressive; however, the manner in which he presented himself had a far greater impact than his looks. His erect posture and steady eye contact demanded respect; yet, he had an aloof air to him, like if the ground was falling to pieces under him, he would continue forward looking as if the greatest problem in his life was that he didn't know what to put on in the morning. The most commanding element of his aura were his silver eyes that could seduce the chaste, inspire the cynical, and animate those seconds away from death. The way he presented himself was like he woke up every day looking so striking. Casual elegance. Languid beauty.

He was unlike any man Hermione Granger ever seen.

"Are you closed?" he asked. His voice was pleasant to the ear: a calming baritone that forced the listener to give up all one's attention to it.

"N-no." She sputtered, "Well, yes, but I suppose it couldn't hurt to stay open for one more customer."

He smiled before asking, "What is your name?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, then Miss Granger," He walked over to her and took her hand. "Charmed to meet you." He said, before kissing the back of her hand. She blushed heavily and remained silent—all the while the mysterious man's hand enveloping her own. Her mind was without a thought and the noise of her heart was the only sound in her ears.

She stood there in a stupor while he waited with a strangely calm expression. Seeing such expression caused Hermione to become irritated with herself. This man – this strange man – was able to keep his composure in such an awkward situation while she became more discomforted by the second.

After finally gathering the required courage she asked, "Do you have a name?"

"Yes," He smirked.

"Oh..." She said, defeated.

He gave out a chuckle as he said, "Alec. My name is Alec."

"Well, then." she said as she tried to rid herself of the undeviating blush across her face, "How may I help you?"

"I've been trying to acquire this book—"

"We sell books!" she blurted out. She cursed herself tenfold after realizing what she said. Hermione Granger has been told she is a great orator, full of wit and intelligence. But this one man, albeit a handsome one, is degrading her down to a blundering idiot.

He looked at her blankly before saying, with a rather large and mischievous grin, "So it seems. However, I am looking for a particular book: Romeo and Juliet. It's one of my dear favorites." He stepped closer to Hermione, so close, in fact, that their faces almost touched and she could feel his warm breath on her cheeks. In barely a whisper he said, "_See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O if I were a glove upon that hand, I might touch that cheek!_"

She backed away, the blush receding from her cheeks as she dubiously said, "That's not right. _See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O **that** I were a glove upon that hand, **that** I might touch that cheek!_ You were close, I suppose."

For a split second, Hermione thought she might have seen the man's lip curl up in a snarl; however, when he gave a hearty chuckle, all doubt hastily vanished.

"You are a clever one, aren't you?" he said. "After I complete my purchase, would you accompany me on a walk?"

"Oh, I don't know…" said Hermione as thoughts of her engagement drifted into her mind.

"Please!" he pleaded, seizing both of her hands and holding them close to his chest. "It would be an honor to be graced with your presence this evening. I wish—no, I **must** have more time with you. I… I never met such a woman as you."

"Oh.", was all Hermione could think to say. The blush returned, this time with a fiery passion that engulfed her entire body. Her appendages felt as if bursts of insufferable heat were radiating off them; they felt so hot that she feared that she could burn the man holding on to them still.

"Will you?" he asked again.

"Y-yes." she stuttered.

A grin appeared on his face, tinted with amusement which Hermione assumed was caused by her own flushed appearance.

They spoke little after that; all conversation had to do with the book the man was purchasing. Instead of buying the single play, he selected an omnibus of Shakespeare's works. (One of the more expensive items of the shop.) After compensating accordingly, he offered his arm to Hermione.

She regarded it with uncertainty, "This isn't necessary."

"A gentleman never walks beside a woman in the evening without her on his arm." he claimed. "It's only proper etiquette."

She frowned, yet wrapped her arm around his. She wasn't sure if his arm was firm or lanky; the thick woolen coat created a cushioned armor around his limps.

They left the shop promptly after she took his arm.

London had entered its twilight stage for the day; the sun would be barely hanging on the horizon if one could see the sun. Alas, the city's smog kept its citizens from seeing such a sight. Instead, they saw a dim light in the west which was presumably the sun. The moon hadn't bothered to show its face yet; perhaps it decided not to waste its beauty on people who couldn't even see it.

The streets were particularly crowded this evening. Hermione tightened her grip to resist being pulled away by the current of people. She glanced up at the man to see if he was having any difficulty maneuvering his way through the swarm, but she found him glancing elsewhere. He was looking – no smirking—at a man in a top hat. Hermione strained to see the other man's response but was unable to see his face, let alone expression.

After failing to identify the man, she asked, "Do you know him?"

His eyes widened. He had not expected her to notice the wordless conversation. "Yes," he finally said with some humor in his voice. "Merely an acquaintance."

They walked. If only it was more interesting than that, but, alas, the two just walked. They spoke of casual, petty things such as weather or an article in The Times while they walked. Occasionally there were silent moments when they walked. They walked through a park. They walked out of such park. As they were walking they found themselves at the stoop of Hermione's house.

Hermione motioned to the tall yet slender house and said, "This is where our ways must part."

"I might never be honored with your company again." he sighed with a bittersweet smile.

She blushed and unhinged herself from him. As she turned to leave, he recaptured her in an embrace. Before she was able to imagine how to respond, he muttered, "Parting is such sweet sorrow…" His face then grew bigger as it journeyed closer to her own, and as it enlarged, her pulse became staccato-like. Just as his lips met hers and she was sure her heart would stop completely, but instead her hand rose instinctively and struck the young man across the face. Needless to say, he released her rather quickly.

"You whore!" he yelled, clutching the offended area. "Common scum!"

At that, Hermione Granger, the sensible woman she is, ran inside and locked the door.

The man gave his last few curses and spat on the steps to her house.

"Lovely, Draco." The man in the top hat stepped out of the shadows. "Beautiful performance, but I'm afraid you owe me some money."

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: I received much more praise and attention than I ever thought I would. As someone who feared posting this would be a major bust, I would like to thank you all for the support and kindness. It was a major confident boost to see so many people take interest. And for such great deeds, I give you the present of a new chapter earlier than expected. However, the bad news is that I have no clue what the reception will be for this chapter. Although I hope it will be positive, I want to know your honest opinion even if they might sound rude to you (because they most likely aren't.)

Like last time, please notify me of really stupid mistakes.


	3. We Accept the Hate We Think We Deserve

_The man gave his last few curses and spat on the steps to her house. _

"_Lovely, Draco." The man in the top hat stepped out of the shadows. "Beautiful performance, but I'm afraid you owe me some money." _

The Evening Before

"Lord Draco Malfoy, Viscount Mere escorting Lady Cho Chang."

Draco Malfoy stood at the top of the staircase looking below listlessly. The party was like the one he went to yesterday; the guests speaking quietly to one another to assume an unobtrusive façade. Collectively, the mummer sounded like a colony of bees which Draco had not a clue why anyone, of sound mind, would think this to be polite and proper. The crowd had many other similarities to the insect; just as the workers would surround their queen, the guests practically lined themselves up to feed compliments to the hosts, Baron Parkinson and his family, but truthfully thought the décor was gaudy, the food tasteless, and their daughter had a shocking resemblance to their dog. Unlike bees, practically no one in this room broke their back from labor, Draco himself included.

His partner gave his bicep a small squeeze. He looked down at the young Chinese girl giving him a toothy smile. Miss Chang was certainly high maintenance; her esteem was fueled by continual praise, and if left without it, she crumbles into a state of tears and moaning. Draco found the whole process exhausting. Nevertheless, she was the jewel of Draco's collection. Not only attractive and of high societal influence, she was on Lord Harry Potter's arm just last Tuesday. Draco was very proud of this acquisition indeed.

The two made their way down the staircase where Draco was happily surprised to see Blaise Zabini standing near one of the long, beige tables. He dragged the girl to his friend's region of the room despite her pleading for a dance.

"Blaise, didn't you say yesterday you wouldn't be attending this 'dismal pandemonium often referred to as a dinner party'?" asked Draco, smirking as he snuck up on his friend.

Zabini, who didn't bother to turn around, replied, "I heard something similar come out of your mouth albeit, not as elegantly. Fret little; not all can be as fluent."

"You say that but," He glanced around mockingly before continuing, "I see no one with you. Could you not find a date in the allotted time?"

"She is speaking with Miss Pansy." Blaise motioned towards the window to a blonde headed girl next to frilly pink dress which some call Pansy Parkinson.

"Oh," Draco frowned in disappointment. He looked down at his partner who gave a pathetic grin at the notion of acknowledgment. Her face was making him nauseated.

"Darling, I believe your presence is better suited with them." He said with a charming smile.

"Oh," she said, obviously wounded by his words. "But, I wish to stay with you!" She held on tighter as if that would prove them to be inseparable.

"Our conversation would bore a lady like you." Blaise added.

She left without another word, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Blaise at last turned to face Draco, "I already know what you wish to ask. Baron Potter is not in attendance today."

Draco gave a scowl; bringing Cho Chang proved to be completely futile. He had to suffer with no gain which ruined his evening altogether.

"While Baron Potter's attendance was expected, yours was not. Why have you come?" asked Blaise.

"Why? Are you not pleased with my presence?" Draco said with a cheeky grin. When he received no response, he continued, "I come in my father's stead; mother is sick so they are in the country."

"I am sorry to hear that. Give them my regards."

"I will."

A large wail, sounding similar to an actual whale, interrupted the two men, along with the entire party, coming from Draco's Chinese trophy. She was quickly escorted out of the ballroom by the blonde girl and Pansy Parkinson who sported a rather venomous look.

"Poor girl," said Draco with false sympathy. "Miss Parkinson must have been the cause of that."

"Her words are tinted in malice." agreed Blaise. "I think Miss Chang deeply regrets leaving the arms of Lord Potter. Speaking of whom, have you heard of his new inamorata?"

Draco attention has been caught. He looked at his friend with barely contained excitement as he said, "Is it scandalous?"

"Why, yes. He has taken quite the liking to a common woman."

"A _commoner?_" he said in disbelief. The corners of Draco's mouth turned upward. This wasn't going to be a fruitless evening after all. "Do you know her name?"

Blaise shook his head, "Not many have seen her, as well. Nott reports that he has. Twice even. But Nott has been known to broaden the truth, as we all know."

"Where!" exclaimed Draco with a manic expression.

Blaise gave him a dubious look. He weighed his options; if he was to tell Draco he would be morally responsible for Draco's actions, but if he were to withhold this information he was certain to be violently murdered where he stood. Living in guilt is better than not living at all.

"First instance at the Count's abode," he said, "Second at some dodgy bookshop. Apparently she spends a lot of time there."

"Can you take me there?" pleaded Draco, becoming more anxious as each minute passed. Blaise knew what Draco intended to do; his friend wanted a new conquest.

"No." he said bluntly.

"Why?" whined Draco in a similar manner that of a child acts towards their mother.

"I refuse to fuel your addiction. Your obsession with manipulating young women stems from a destructive psychological ailment, something of which I will be no part of."

Draco gathered some composure before replying, "Mr. Zabini, I full heartedly agree with your assessment and swear to family name that I will seek aid… after this one last time."

"No."

"Do you wish to stay here so badly? Don't you despise these gatherings?" Draco tried.

"I do, but it's proper to stay the entirety of events such as these."

"Miss Bulstrode is coming this way with a determined expression."

"I just remembered: I have an appointment with my physician. Would you like to accompany me, Draco?"

"I would love to." he said with a triumphant expression.

"Let me first acquire my hat, and then we will be on our way."

Draco Malfoy was never much of a game hunter; the thought of gushing blood and other gore was, frankly, disgusting to him. No, when Draco referred to himself as a hunter he did not mean a lout with a gun. His game was women; his weapon was his charisma. And he considered himself to be an expert at this sport. He had many conquests: from the jaded to the pious, he could capture any woman's heart. His appearance gave him an advantage to do so, but the truth of his seduction was something much more. There have been many theories amongst his peers. Some say it is like any another skill; something practiced and perfected. Others believe it to be a cause of environment. A select and bizarre few think he blackmailed a scientist to concoct a pheromone-like spray which creates a delusion of love. Draco himself felt as if his ability was innate; something that engulfed his very being stemming from something far into his very bones.

"I wonder how it's like to live knowing your only talents are seducing women." Blaise said snidely as the two stood outside the bookshop.

"Wonderful, actually." he tried to peer into the building's opaque windows. There wasn't much to see, but there was a glimpse of a human-like shadow. He looked again; it was definitely female, but other no other signifier of who she was.

"Is it her?" Draco asked.

"First, I would like to point out how pathetic this is, but you probably have accepted that already. And to answer your question, you must first calculate the number of female patrons and employees of this shop, and then divide by one. To simplify this: expect that it is not."

"You are forgetting, my dear friend, I will do anything if there is a possibility of ruining Potter's life." Draco smirked.

"You truly think your 'talent' is infallible don't you?" Blaise asked with a raised eyebrow. Draco spun his head around to give his friend a dubious look.

"There has never been a case that conflicts with that belief, yet you still doubt me, don't you?" Draco continued, "I propose a wager. If I cannot get this girl to fall in love with me by midnight, I will pay you ten pounds." [Roughly 600 pounds today]

Zabini sighed. He hoped gambling wasn't going to join Draco's addiction of seduction; he found card games to be such a bore. However, the prospect of his friend's humiliation convinced him to join the bet.

"Alright," Blaise agreed. "But we must set better objectives: you must receive a kiss from her."

Present time 

She blushed and unhinged herself from him. As she turned to leave, he recaptured her in an embrace. Before she was able to imagine how to respond, he muttered, "Parting is such sweet sorrow…" His face then grew bigger as it journeyed closer to her own, and as it enlarged, her pulse became staccato-like. Just as his lips met hers and she was sure her heart would stop completely, but instead her hand rose instinctively and struck the young man across the face. Needless to say, he released her rather quickly.

"You whore!" he yelled, clutching the offended area. "Common scum!"

At that, Hermione Granger, the sensible woman she is, ran inside and locked the door.

The man gave his last few curses and spat on the steps to her house.

"Lovely, Draco." Blaise said, stepping out of the shadows. "Beautiful performance, but I'm afraid you owe me some money."

"No, my friend, your eyes must have mistaken you. Did you not see that kiss?" Draco yelled.

Blaise tilted his head and said, "And your ears mistaken you. I said you must receive a kiss from her. Instead you assaulted her."

"Assaulted!" he yelled in disbelief.

"Yes. Did you not see the look on her face? She was absolutely horrified." said a much amused Blaise. He rested a hand on the shoulder of his friend who now appeared to be in a catatonic shock.

Draco's mind struggled to find a reasonable explanation. This had never happened to him, not with Pansy, Cho, or even Queen Victoria's own daughter! He tried to convince himself that she was a fluke; a mere mistake in the order of the universe, but still a question echoed through his very soul. It was something that caused him panic, not because of content but of its inappropriateness in this dire situation.

Who was that woman?

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> This was quite... dialog-y. I apologize for that and there might be some edits in the future to correct the problem. All in all it, was rather fun to write. Since I don't have much to say, I will instead give a brief explanation on peerage. To my knowledge, nobility goes along these lines:

_King and Queen_

_Duke and Dutchess (Prince and Princess)_

_Count/Earl and Countess_

_Viscount and Viscountess _

_Baron and Baroness _

_Knight and Dame_

Also, the son of a Earl will sometimes called a Viscount as a honorary title which is the case of Draco.

Lesson done, be ready for a quiz at anytime~

Anywho, as always be bold and tell me of any mistakes! There is a difference between being rude and honest; if you think a statement is rude, it most likely is not. And if it is, tell me it anyways!


	4. Love Looks With the Eyes

Hermione Granger woke up the next day thinking she must have been afflicted with a bout of insanity.

It was the only possible conclusion she could fathom… or that she would allow herself to think. After all, normal Hermione would have never been degraded down to a giggling school girl by some man who could easily be mistaken for the opposite sex even while wearing male clothes. She was a Voltaire-reading, true-love-scoffing, logic-conquers-all cynic; she was not a lover of Darnays or Darcys or any other man who pranced around in flashy clothing that compensated for their lack of personality. After all, a diamond is just coal in disguise.

Not only that, but only under some deep psychological disturbance would she dare accompany a man she wasn't acquainted with, especially at nightfall. London had become a dangerous place for a woman. About twenty women were murdered each fortnight and countless more suffered from other odious crimes. She contained far too much intellect to be escorted by a man with unknown intentions. For all she knew he could have been a killer. A killer whose weapons are his appearance and charisma as well as a well concealed blade or lethal poison. If this was true, she would have been a dead woman the second she exited the shop with him – or rather it _is_ true and the one thing that saved her was a well-timed slap. In this world of unpredictability, she should bless her good fortunes that Ronald still has a fiancé.

_He_ was still handsome.

Hermione tried to bury that thought; admitting it would mean she hadn't fully rid herself of her insanity. It was horrible mental affliction that caused a fire in her chest while her face felt oddly chilled and numb every time she thought of his eyes of liquid steel.

_He_ was still handsome.

She tried to alter her memory; replacing him with images of the grotesque. Instead of the sharp features were bulbous and asymmetrical ones. Silver eyes changed to solid black ones that bored an image of horror into her soul. His lean frame turned emaciated; his face appeared skeleton-like and his fingers showed every bone. Porcelain skin to translucent skin. She couldn't convince herself. Every time she tried she noticed the fallacies and the handsome man returned to his original state.

_He_ was still handsome and she could not accept that.

It would be admitting that Hermione Granger had the capability to act like _those_ women. Women that fainted, or pretended to do so, excessively for reasons that weren't wardrobe related. Ones that yearn for the mythological man of wealth and beauty as well as kindness, spending the time that was given to them to live on desiring impossible things. A diamond might just be disguised coal, but that doesn't mean coals and diamonds should mingle.

Hermione rose from her bed, leaving silly thoughts behind, and got dressed. She wasn't what one would call an "elegant dresser",—translated as a two-inch-waist mess of frill and fluff—but at the demand of her employer she tied up a corset with plenty of room to spare and slipped on a faded blue dress that forced her to waddle like a water fowl. Not bothering to glance at a mirror, she routinely twisted her unruly hair into a bun, sliding a feathered hat on top.

After finishing a small breakfast and a large pot of tea, Hermione locked up her house and began her journey to the book shop. It had been only two years since she began locking the door as she left. It still felt strange to hear the hallow click of the bolt, realizing that when she would return home it would be the same empty house.

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><p>Neville Longbottom was crouched on the stoop on the shop. A newcomer of the district would regard him with suspicion but everyone familiar with this scene knew that every morning the boy waited by the bookshop for his superior. Everyone was quite amused with the situation; a man taking orders from a woman! He mustn't be much of a man if he was so incompetent that a woman had to do his job, they thought.<p>

But one passerby didn't think such thoughts. She was a young thing with rosy cheeks and braided blonde hair. Every morning on her way to the pub she worked at, she watched the young man with longing. He wasn't particularly handsome nor did he look rich, but he always wore this goofy smile. From sweltering heat to freezing cold to pouring rain, the grin stayed as if he was always in a state of bliss. The first time she saw him, she thought he had little sanity; however, soon her feelings changed into, dare she say it, love. The girl began to truly love the strange smiling boy, but how would she approach him? She wasn't so bold as to declare her feelings or even start a conversation with him. So she loved him afar until this particular morning…

"Why are you always smiling?" she blurted out, standing a few feet away from the boy.

He looked up, "Wha-?"

Her cheeks burned from his response as she rambled, "I pass by every morning and you are here every morning smiling and such and I was wondering why because it is an odd sight to see a boy smiling on the streets like that not saying you are abnormal or anything but when it is raining you are smiling even though you have no umbrella and I think why is that boy smiling when he could catch pneumonia or consumption or another illness and I think that would be quite a tragedy don't you?"

"Y-yeah." he replied with widened eyes. She reddened to a level that even scientists would say impossible for humans to achieve and quickly turned her back, ready to run and possibly kill herself in order to never have to recall this moment before he added, "People think I'm an idiot because I'm always grinning and all. They think I have nothing else 'cept happy thoughts because I can't think higher than that. But, in truth, I know that life can be worse so what's the point of letting things bog you down?"

"You are amazing!" she gasped autonomously before cupping her hands to her mouth and walking from the way she came as fast as her too small shoes would let her.

At that moment, Hermione walked up to the shop, key in hand, wearing a bemused expression.

"Oh, Neville, you really need to stop chasing young girls away. Your gran expects you to have children of your own, you know." she chuckled as she unlocked the door.

He blushed and scuttled into the shop as soon as the door opened.

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><p>Hermione kept herself occupied for the early part of the day; she swept the floor, dusted every surface, and reorganized the front and back rooms at least a dozen times. She refused to give <em>him<em> a single thought. Alas, the room was refusing to fulfill her wish. As she looked toward the door frame and images of silver eyes and white-tinted hair filled her head. _Damn!_ She would have to clean the bookshelves as punishment.

As she waved a clean feather duster over equally clean books, something caught her eye. _Romeo and Juliet_. She held the leather book in her shaking hands, feeling the warmness of _his_ breath on the side of her face. It felt as if _he_ was actually standing beside her. What if _he_ was actually here? In an act of sheer folly, she turned around to see orange instead of blonde.

"Ah!" She yelled and in her panicked state she fell backwards.

Ronald felt no need to hide his amusement as he practically fell beside her, laughing.

"T-the l-look on your … face!" He said between gasps.

Hermione was already on her feet brushing off nonexistent dirt of her dress when she replied, "Now that you have finished making an ass out of yourself, please leave."

"'Mione, don't be like that! I was only teasing you." he said.

"I didn't find it to be very humorous, thank you." she scowled, backside aching, as she walked painfully behind the counter.

"Gee, someone's corset is fixed up tightly today." mumbled Ronald.

"RONALD—"

He rose up his hand to her face to silence her as he interrupted, "Do you want your present?" Without waiting for a response, he pulled out a ring from his grubby pockets and laid it on the counter.

Hermione looked at it in amazement. Its diamond, sitting atop a band of gold, gleamed under the dim lights of the shop. She was about to put it on when she realized she was stilling clutching the book. _Romeo and Juliet_. Her face paled. She had not only dishonored her own blood but the entire Weasley family. She was a horrible, unfaithful wench! A woman of poor repute! A fallen woman was what she was! If anyone was know of this she would be fired and never work again in proper society. She would have to whore to earn her livings and end up dying by the hands of disease. Yet she still had to tell him. She would rather be an impoverished whore than a lying whore.

"Ronald, I—"

Yet again, he interrupted her, this time setting his hands on top of hers. "Darling, don't worry about the price," he said, misinterpreting her distress, "It wasn't much money at all! Look at it, very closely now. It might look like a diamond, but truly it is glass! It reminds me of you."

Her face flushed as she said as calmly as possible, "You are saying that I appear to be something that I'm not? That I'm an illusion, a vain lie? That I exist for merely superficial reasons?"

"Yes? No… Wait, what was the question again?" He nervously backed away from the counter.

"Ronald—"Thrice she had been interrupted today; this time wasn't her fiancé's doing. She saw someone out the window. Someone that she thought she would never see again. It was someone that made her yell out, "_HIM!_"

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><p><em>Author's Note: Stop the presses, I'm alive! ACT has yet to kill me, but it has kept me off fanfiction for a few weeks.<em>

_In all seriousness, thanks for reading y'all and as always, tell me what you think especially if you hated it. A couple of notes:_

_1. Voltaire was a philosopher, historian, writer, etc. who is well known for his satire Candide or, The Optimist. It was a satire that parodies cliche romance and adventure situations among other things._

_2. Darnay as in Charles Darnay from A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. I haven't read it in a while so correct me if I'm wrong, but he was of french aristocracy and he was quite the looker. Darcy, as in Mr. Darcy from Pride And Prejudice by Jane Austen, the aloof, wealthy, and handsome hero._

_3. Consumption = Tuberculous_

_And lastly, for all confused: Lord is to Mr. and Mrs. as Viscount and Baron is to King and Queen._

_Hopefully there won't be quite the delay for the next chapter!_


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